A first.
I enjoy each and every "first" (as one should at my age).
Today it was sour beer.
It has sip-ability. It's not a drink one can consume in quantity or at speed. Think: SweeTarts or Sour Patch candy in a dark beer.
Sour Beer
A first.
I enjoy each and every "first" (as one should at my age).
Today it was sour beer.
It has sip-ability. It's not a drink one can consume in quantity or at speed. Think: SweeTarts or Sour Patch candy in a dark beer.
World Bellydance Day Flashmob
Portland's Pioneer Courthouse Square, 14 May 2001. World Belly Dance Day. Belly dance flashmob (choreographed, directed and produced by my fiancΓ©e).
Thought We Had 594 Days? Now It's 14.
Yuuup...there's always going to be someone out there more bizarre and unstable than normal-weird. I say normal-weird because (as far as I can tell) there's always been a constant median of weirdness everywhere you look. I've come to expect it. If I took a downtown-stroll and didn't see at least a couple normal weirdos, I'd feel deprived—like an 'every-predator-asleep' visit to the zoo. With the population constantly rising, I expect there to gradually be more and more normal weirdos plying their brand of loony in my vicinity; not less....nooope.
But, these two ΓΌber-weirdos say that starting on the 21st of May (in two weeks) the earth's going to begin being earthquaked to smithereens. Then, according to their interpretation of an ancient allegorical anthology, over the next 153 days the universe crumbles and finally extinguishes on Friday, 21 October 2011.
Shit! I was hoping to get my golf game consistently under 90 this summer. It was already going to be tough—I just got a new putter—but now, with constant earthquakes, it's going to be nearly impossible. And here I was counting on the 594 more days the Mayan's promised and voting in next year's election as well.
Shit! I was hoping to get my golf game consistently under 90 this summer. It was already going to be tough—I just got a new putter—but now, with constant earthquakes, it's going to be nearly impossible. And here I was counting on the 594 more days the Mayan's promised and voting in next year's election as well.
Irishwind: An Amazing Artist
Recently, I learned that some people are either unable or less-prone to seeing "things which aren't there" and, I surmise, that's a primary reason why some don't like abstract art. When someone says they "don't understand" a work of art—what they mean is they are unable to look at (hear, watch) something that relies upon the "abilities" of pareidolia-apophenia (either or both) to appreciate it.
Irishwind's art can be seen here. Go appreciate it! (Even if you are pareapop-blind.)
MySoLiMo - My Song List Month
 In March-April I participated in a month-of-songs. I began by following someone. Once I learned it was a meme, *wards evil-claw while hissing* I began creating my own categories. Listen to the 30-song playlist (2hr 49min) on YouTube Music.
other music lists: |
What The Fuss Is All About Patrick Rothfuss
About once a decade I "discover" a "new" fantasy/speculative fiction author with sufficient imagination, drive, and wordsmith-ability to hold me rapt for thousands of pages. Normally, I come upon them—whether stumbling by lucky happenstance or navigating by direction—after their trilogy is complete. Not the case with The Kingkiller Chronicle, written by Patrick Rothfuss.
The first 750 pages (The Name of the Wind) were very good. The next nearly-1000 pages (The Wise Man's Fear) were great-to-excellent and better than the first. The third is still being carefully crafted. I hope it's published early in 2012; with sufficient time for me to read it before the end of the world.
Patrick Rothfuss is on the same shelf as: Orson Scott Card, Frank Herbert, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Gene Wolfe.
☆☆☆ Ratings—The Forgettable 3+/- Defined
Dear anonymous (14-year-old-male) commenter who recommended Sucker Punch and questioned my 3+ rating on Source Code here.
I've previously detailed my unorthodox rating schema.
Simply put: The vast majority of everything is forgettable (the mediocre ☆☆☆).
Over time, we forget things that don't stand-out. ☆☆☆☆☆ are reserved for the few fantastically-great things we witness, and although we try to avoid ☆, occasionally, we step in something terribly-horrible anyway.
Normal rating systems fail to address that the majority of things (over 65%) are forgettable. My system—best visualized as a hyperbolic curve—addresses these bland, middle-range, ☆☆☆, forgettable things by sub-dividing it. 3+ are forgettable with some memorable accomplishments and 3- are forgettable with a few memorable errors.
I've previously detailed my unorthodox rating schema.
Simply put: The vast majority of everything is forgettable (the mediocre ☆☆☆).
Over time, we forget things that don't stand-out. ☆☆☆☆☆ are reserved for the few fantastically-great things we witness, and although we try to avoid ☆, occasionally, we step in something terribly-horrible anyway.
Normal rating systems fail to address that the majority of things (over 65%) are forgettable. My system—best visualized as a hyperbolic curve—addresses these bland, middle-range, ☆☆☆, forgettable things by sub-dividing it. 3+ are forgettable with some memorable accomplishments and 3- are forgettable with a few memorable errors.
pogo ∼ snapperhead ∴ pogos ∼ digi-rends
| Today is my thirtieth-consecutive day of my song list month, which I've grown fond of referring to as MySoLiMo. This eight-letter-run-on is a parody of National Novel Writers Month (NaNoWriMo). I pronounce it like an American butchering the Italian song 'O Sole Mio, but I begin with 'My' instead of 'Oh'. Today's title is a reference to my day-14 title: toothbrush ∼ condom ∴ dental caries ∼ ?.
The original meme author's final title was
The Newest Song You Enjoy
On March 24th I began MySoLiMo mistakenly thinking the titles were coming from the incisive mind of Ginny, a writer whom I respect. I also thought it was going to be a video month (that's how she described it at first). Although I began coloring outside the lines on day 3 (when I selected a sad video, instead of a song) the obvious cracks didn't begin to stand out—for me—until after a week (when I began to suspect Ginny wasn't the author and started choosing my own categories). Because I especially enjoy films, and I wanted to steer the meme back toward videos, my day 8 selection was from a film.
Day ten I briefly touched on the difficulty of creating MySoLiMo categories from whole cloth, while cherry-picking from the more interesting original author's titles. The fourteenth-day Ginny confessed to also disliking the titles. Now that I realized I wouldn't be stepping on her toes, I abandoned the original author's titles (albeit I did ridicule and scorn them more than thrice). I retained the song-theme while continuing to hint at—as well as insert—movie, film, and video (maybe I'll craft a MoFiVoLiMo someday) references whenever the opportunity arose.  Recently I've been listening to Pogo (Australian artist Nick Bertke, not the possum cartoon character who's most memorable caption—quoted in 2009 here—is: We have met the enemy and he is us).I love everything he pogos. Yes, as a verb. It's not mere remixing; no more than my digital renderings from poached images are just photo-shopping. The pogos (versatile, yup, now it's a pronoun) I enjoy most are those distilled from animated films. However, the pogo from his mother's garden is fantastic (makes me tear-up a little); as is the one I saw excerpted on television last month, about a local place I've hiked (Beaver Creek State Park). My newest favorite is Pogo's Wishery. It plays to an entire menagerie of affinations: instrumental, talk-song, film, elec-trance, as well as it chimes both my happy and laugh bells. My complete 30-day list of songs: My Song List Month Redux-Return to Day 1: My Favorite Song |
AFFINATION
A Favorite Talk Song.
Subtitle: (if you're not into the ol' brevity thing) a music composition incorporating instruments and vocals in such a manner that some, or all, vocals are spoken rather than sung (e.g. the rap genre; the song Tubthumper—a safe example because it's nobody's favorite; or everything by Lou Reed).
My favorite talk song is Somewhere Down The Crazy River, by Robbie Robertson.
There are quite a few talk-songs I like. I'm not exactly sure why, but, since I am the most qualified to posit a theory, here goes.
Poetry sounds like a song which has taken a cappella to the extreme. When lyrics are sung the words become part of, and meld with, the song. Speak with instrumental accompaniment, however, and the prose stands out. Tells a story. I have an affination for this type of song-stylin'.
Here's a thing (more of a tangential aside-thing) affination is a word I've used my entire adult life, but it doesn't mean what I want it to mean. And never has. But. I still use it. Affination (from the—obviously—abridged snapperhead dictionary): A proclamation of strong affinity used in much the same manner as the (real) words: abomination, fascination, consignation, and (especially) affectation.**
But where was I? Oh, yeah. Talk-songs. Affinity.
The story takes center stage when a singer downshifts the lyrics and speaks some of the song's words. If he or she has an interesting voice—with a story-teller's ear-catching character and inflection—the story of the song is more-easily sculpted into memory.
Even if you haven't heard Lullabye by Shawn Mullins in over a decade, you probably still remember which celebrities her parents hung out with, at big parties?‡ And, if you (like most) were only confused by the off-putting Mmm(x4) song by The Crash Test Dummies...I still wouldn't be surprised if you, none-the-less, remember why the boy's hair turned from black to bright white?♦
** If you work in the sugar-processing or metallurgical industries, you may feel affronted by my repurposing your word. Good. I would ask that this not become the one turd in a sea of shit that pisses you off and hope you don't decide to do somethin' about this turd—but I won't. I hope it pisses your federally subsidized asses right-the-fuck off.
‡ Dennis Hopper, Bob Seger, Sonny and Cher.
♦ from when the cars crashed sooo hard.
Day 30 - Newest Song You Enjoy
Subtitle: (if you're not into the ol' brevity thing) a music composition incorporating instruments and vocals in such a manner that some, or all, vocals are spoken rather than sung (e.g. the rap genre; the song Tubthumper—a safe example because it's nobody's favorite; or everything by Lou Reed).
My favorite talk song is Somewhere Down The Crazy River, by Robbie Robertson.
There are quite a few talk-songs I like. I'm not exactly sure why, but, since I am the most qualified to posit a theory, here goes.
Poetry sounds like a song which has taken a cappella to the extreme. When lyrics are sung the words become part of, and meld with, the song. Speak with instrumental accompaniment, however, and the prose stands out. Tells a story. I have an affination for this type of song-stylin'.
Here's a thing (more of a tangential aside-thing) affination is a word I've used my entire adult life, but it doesn't mean what I want it to mean. And never has. But. I still use it. Affination (from the—obviously—abridged snapperhead dictionary): A proclamation of strong affinity used in much the same manner as the (real) words: abomination, fascination, consignation, and (especially) affectation.**
But where was I? Oh, yeah. Talk-songs. Affinity.
The story takes center stage when a singer downshifts the lyrics and speaks some of the song's words. If he or she has an interesting voice—with a story-teller's ear-catching character and inflection—the story of the song is more-easily sculpted into memory.
Even if you haven't heard Lullabye by Shawn Mullins in over a decade, you probably still remember which celebrities her parents hung out with, at big parties?‡ And, if you (like most) were only confused by the off-putting Mmm(x4) song by The Crash Test Dummies...I still wouldn't be surprised if you, none-the-less, remember why the boy's hair turned from black to bright white?♦
‡ Dennis Hopper, Bob Seger, Sonny and Cher.
♦ from when the cars crashed sooo hard.
Day 30 - Newest Song You Enjoy
Free My Mind...Just Free My Mind
A Song Which Reflects Your Opinion On The Weather.
The weather, in today's category, is a metaphor. It could have been anything beyond our control; chicken little's non-upcoming apocalypse, solidly proven quantum factoids, the flowering myth of world-wide social equality—anything at all—I just chose weather because it's global (omnipresent), powerful (omnipotent), and everyone has an opinion about it (omnipinint). (Not to be confused with omnipaninint...the burgeoning trend of selling every sandwich on earth with grill lines.)
Feels Like Heaven by Urban Cookie Collective is my metaphorical answer.
But wait.
Why then, does my answer seem meteorological in nature?
I thought that would be obvious from the tone, young grasshopper.
Whether you're too vain to understand metaphors or your brain can only interpret all the information your senses send to it in such an extremely straightforward manner that you're unable to (free your mind) stop fixating on the weathervane, the answer is still the same.
There is no spoon.
It's never just a foot massage.
When you're chewing on life's gristle, don't grumble, give a whistle.
Day 29: A Favorite Talk Song
Feels Like Heaven by Urban Cookie Collective is my metaphorical answer.
But wait.
Why then, does my answer seem meteorological in nature?
I thought that would be obvious from the tone, young grasshopper.
Whether you're too vain to understand metaphors or your brain can only interpret all the information your senses send to it in such an extremely straightforward manner that you're unable to (free your mind) stop fixating on the weathervane, the answer is still the same.
There is no spoon.
It's never just a foot massage.
When you're chewing on life's gristle, don't grumble, give a whistle.
Day 29: A Favorite Talk Song
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